Photo courtesy of the Skinner family.
1113 Jay Skinner children
Henry, Thomas and Hollon Skinner pose in front of their house for a photo to send to their dad on Memorial Day.
Tears stung my eyes as I watched him line up. It was 6:30 in the morning. I was wearing my glasses and my hair was half-brushed, but none of that mattered. Before I knew it, I was waving goodbye to a bus as tears flowed freely down my face. It’s like the whole world was going in slow motion as the bus pulled away. My eyes never left that bus until it was nothing but a speck in the distance.
My heart felt like weights, weighing me down with each step I took. My older brother rested his hand on my shoulder for comfort with not a trace of tears in his eyes. My mother, who was trying her best to stay strong, was hugging onto my younger brother as they both cried. I looked past my family and at all the other families that surrounded me. They were crying and hugging each other, just like us. In that single moment, an idea that I have had thought many times before whittled its way back into my mind — I was not alone.
I am not alone. I have thought this many times before, and at the moment it seemed to click. My dad, Major Thomas J. Skinner, is a JAG officer in the Alabama Army National Guard. His unit is made of 250 men and women, which means 250 families are being left behind. Families just like mine. Once again, I was not alone.
When it was time for my dad to come home for the weekend before he flew to the Middle East, I sat in my class all jittery and anxious. I was waiting for my mom and dad to come get me. Finally, the time came, and the teacher told me I was checking out.
My emotions overcame me as I ran to my dad, who stood at the front desk awaiting me. Dropping all my bags, I clung to my dad like a sloth on a tree as small happy tears fell down my face. After a while, I pulled away and noticed the girls standing in the door crying happy tears. I blushed not knowing I had an audience, but it didn’t matter. I grabbed my daddy’s hand as he led us out to the car.
Just one weekend and the following Monday was all I had until he left us once more. Joy overwhelmed me, gluing a smile on my face that wouldn’t go away. Here we were sitting at one of my dad’s favorite restaurants as he told us his stories. I didn’t listen. I was too busy soaking in the fact that my dad was home. My mind kept bringing me back to the other families who must be feeling the same joy as me. As I lay in my bed that Sunday night, a sad realization flushed over me. I wished to never fall asleep, for in the morning, he would be leaving us again.
The next day there we were once again, my bags on the floor as I clung onto my dad in the school office. I held on to my dad, not wanting to ever let go. The time came, and I reluctantly peeled myself off my dad. I slowly picked up my bags, blinking back tears threatening to escape. Waving one last goodbye, I slowly walked to my locker.
Turning around, I noticed one tear slide down my father’s face. It was as if I was a piece of glass being dropped onto the floor, shattering. I couldn’t take it, and turning the corner, I let the tears fall as I tried to hide my face. The rest of the day was a blur. It was as if I was the walking dead that at the touch would crumple into a million pieces. I was feeling pity for myself when something hit me.
I am not alone. I sit here crying for myself when other families just like me might be going through worse. Some mothers were pregnant, and those babies will be born without their daddy around. I feel sorry for myself and I feel I am selfish. I want people to feel sorry for me. I want to feel sorry for me and only me. Even if I try to think of someone else, there is no way of escaping it. I will always be selfish because that is what makes me human.
It was a hard realization that I already knew but couldn’t grasp. Everything happening with my dad helps me understand more. Life will bring you down, but you can’t spend your whole life feeling sorry for yourself. I am not saying it’s not okay to pity yourself; it is good in some cases. It’s only bad when you forget that you are not alone. It doesn’t even have to be as drastic as mine to realize you’re not alone.
The month is now November, the month my dad and all the other moms and dads in his unit come home. I selfishly cannot wait for his return.
